


Sever

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Series: A Place for Us: Victor and Ethan [1]
Category: Dracula (TV 2013), Frankethan, Freud (TV 2020), Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alpha Ethan, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Crossover, Falling In Love, Feelings, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Flirting, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Anal Sex, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Light Angst, London, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Opportunities, Non-Canon Relationship, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Pining, SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 FINALE, Sex, Soul-Searching, Teasing, Top Ethan, Touching, True Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, i made myself cry with feelz, mostly canon background from the series, new life, soul mates, these two will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Ethan needed time away from London after their last "expedition." But now he has returned, determined to retrieve what he has lost."Sometimes I wonder, Ethan, do men like you or I… do we bring our darkness with us wherever we go? Can we not escape it? Do we... nurture it?Do we not stow it away in a valise, protected and cared for like a family heirloom, until it’s time to gently unwrap it and put it on display?Screaming like our deepest hollow screams, beseeching  ‘Look at me! Look at how broken I’ve become, how deeply wounded and barren my soul actually is without... love.’”





	1. Hold Me For I Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HarkerX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarkerX/gifts), [Ladywordsmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladywordsmyth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Too Many Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16293017) by [RavenAurelieChoiseau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau). 



> I apologize this took so long but it was more an "adventure" as our dear Vanessa would say than I initially expected in order to finish this.  
> It was inspired by a dream. Like John Clare, it was born of my hopes and desires and (figurative) blood.  
> I hope you like my little Creature.

SEVER  
  
Stutter shook and uptight  
Pull me out from inside  
I am ready; I am ready; I am ready… I am fine  
_

Vanessa is perched on Ethan’s bed, back pressed against the cool, patterned wall. Her long legs crossed beneath twitch nervously.  
“The good doctor, I mean. Victor.”  
She drops the appellation with a nonchalance, an easy smile playing at the corners of her ruby mouth. Ethan glances at her intently as soon as the name escapes her lips.  
“What about Victor?”  Its sound is sweet against his tongue.  
  
Ethan chooses his words with care. Says them slowly, so as not to betray his lack of control.  
“Is there something I should know? Did something happen?”  
She shakes her head ever so gently. “Nothing of real import. You’ve missed him, though. I can tell.”   
  
Is that a smirk breaking on her visage? Ethan steals another glimpse, eyebrow raised.  
She knows that look. Her chest heaves into delightful laughter.  
“Oh just admit it, Ethan.“  
Laughter looks good on her. It’s a beautiful sound to fill these rooms that have only known anguish.  
Vanessa is looking healthy. Gone are the dark circles from beneath her eyes. The brow has smoothed and her skin is flawless alabaster against the eggshell tint of her dress.  
“I suppose, Vanessa,“ he admits.  
A lump gets caught in his throat and promises to choke off air. She winks. The twinkle of her sky eyes, the renewed ardor in her gaze… they reveal her contentment, and it warms Ethan’s heart to no end.  
  
“I suppose? Have you only this to say?”  
Ethan pulls open the first drawer of the heavily adorned chest. The lacquer is smooth against the pads of his fingers, like touching a hazelnut’s shell. It brings him back to his youth.  
  
He glances at Vanessa with shyness, a blush rising unbidden to his cheek when his thoughts turn to the young physician.  
“I suppose I have missed him. Very much. Better now?”  
  
Now it’s Ethan’s turn to smirk. Replacing the shirts he brought back, Ethan pushes the stubborn wood shut with a screech.   
Swiveling in place, he turns to her once more. “I take it you’ve been spyin’ about?”  
Vanessa smiles to herself in a self-congratulatory manner. One hand fingers the hem of her white gown, cloth bunched at her knees. The billows swell with soft fabric against the golden cover, like frothy foam on a sandy shore.  
She looks like a curious little girl, Ethan muses.  
He looks like a boy with a crush, Vanessa thinks.  
  
Floundering before the brilliance of his amused look, she grins. Vanessa remembers what it means to love like this. When quivering hands and halted breath accompany the mere mention of one’s beloved.  
“You need to tell him, Ethan.”  
The expression in his crinkled coffee gaze betrays him. Pleads for something more. A longing murmurs within him, like a broken sigh. So overwhelming perhaps it’s a testament to something deeper? More than he’s willing to admit even to himself?   
“I shall.”  
“He’s perfect for you. Who else to comprehend your forlorn soul but someone who’s endured as you both have? Who better to love intensely when such common suffering is the kindling?”  
  
Her slim arms wrap around one knee, chin resting on the bony cap. She studies him from under long, sooty lashes.  
Ethan carries himself with a certain grace. His very essence a perfect colloquy with his movements.  
“I don’t know if he loves me, Vanessa.”  
A simper tugs at her features. What fools these men are.  
“My darling Mr. Chandler, I have it on good authority our good doctor is rather smitten with you.”   
A hastily suppressed giggle rings out in the pause.  
  
“Do you now? And who told ya this?”  
Hunching her shoulder, she bends her mind to the nub of the argument. Some raven tendrils break free from a loose pin and cascade gently onto her shoulder.  
She notices Ethan’s smooth locks have grown out.  
“Oh, let’s just say I’ve heard whispers.”   
Ethan’s quiet composure is only superficial. Beneath his skin he’s all an ache.  
“They whisper there, do they?”   
  
The beat of the bronze knocker echoes through the manor, drawing their attention to the floor below. The main door groans open and voices break through the silence a moment later, warm and loose in tone.  
The housekeeper.  
Then a man.  
Ethan stiffens, sniffs the air with flared nostrils.   
_Victor’s here.  
_  
“That will be your paramour Ethan. I’m sure he can’t wait to see you.”  
Vanessa makes to rise, her bare feet hanging down off the edge of the frame.  
“I best make myself scarce.”  
  
The first soft step can be heard on the stairwell and Ethan’s heart lurches with every creak afterwards.  
“I just hope my leavin’ didn’t make him think I didn’t wanna be here. That I don’t care for him-“  
Vanessa stands, leaning lightly into him. She takes Ethan’s hand gently in her own, tilting her head like a doting mother would.  
“Nonsense. He’d never think that,” Vanessa sighs. “The minute he sees you he’ll melt into a puddle at your feet, you’ll see.”   
“Hope so.”  
  
An airy tread brings her to the threshold. Her long fingers curl around the doorframe as she sways.  
One foot in the room and one without.  
One in darkness and one in light.  
Teetering as if between two planes.  
“Tell him how you feel, Ethan. Let yourself be happy. After everything that transpired you both deserve it.”  
  
Before he can reply, she looks heavenward. Blows him a kiss and slips into the blackness of the hall.  
  
-  
  
The door to the chamber is already open like a yawn. A quavering fist raps lightly on the heavy timber.  
Victor daren’t step inside until invited. The very sight of the man his heart desires has emptied his lungs in one long exhale.  
He needs a moment.  
  
Ethan feigns surprise.  Even previous to turning his head, he’s aware of Victor’s presence.  
The light gait barely echoing on the stairs was preceded by his scent. (And of course his voice floating up to the rafters gave it away).  
But something tells Ethan it would bring Victor pleasure to know he’s been missed.   
  
Ethan inhales deeply. Even in death, Ethan would know that perfume anywhere. Something citrusy mixed with an herb. An essential oil.  
Victor uses it only on special occasions. Dosed with an eyedropper and applied with trembling hand,  
it’s a high street fragrance purchased on a whim. One Victor truly couldn’t afford but one day allowed himself. (One of his few indulgences).   
Last time he wore it was the day of Vanessa’s funeral. The last time he and Ethan embraced.  
  
Victor straightens his shoulders and clears his throat.  
“Welcome back, my friend. I’m so glad you’ve returned.”  
Ethan swivels slowly, his delight releasing all tension from his face when his gaze falls on Victor, chestnut eyes alive with affection.  
“Victor!”  
Ethan had felt that familiar tightening in his chest many times. The uneasy, irregular rhythm of his heartbeat.  
This time it isn’t out of fear or anger, though.  
  
At the ringing of his name through the austere room, Victor’s whole body jolts, heart swelling burstingly in his ribcage.  
My word he’s even more handsome than I remembered, he muses.  
  
Ethan advances with four ground-eating steps, arms flung out expansively.  He gathers the man tightly against his breast and kisses Victor’s soft cheek, arms solid and strong around his tiny frame.  
_Dear God I’ve missed you so._  
Victor clutches onto him like a child holding a favorite doll, the fabric of his shirt bunching in sweaty palms. This isn’t a dream, he tells himself. Ethan IS back. He’s back and I will not let him go _ever again._  
Victor can barely form coherent thoughts.  
  
“I’ve missed you, Victor,” Ethan whispers.  “I was going to come and call as soon as I was done unpacking.”  
Ethan’s lungs fill slowly, his lips pressed to Victor’s dark waves. They scent of chill.  
The purity of frozen flurry overwhelms his senses.  
“You’re freezing, Victor!”  
The doctor squeezes his eyes shut, relishing the moment of being swallowed up by Ethan’s warmth. How he has dreamed of finding himself within the protectiveness of his wolf’s arms!  
  
“Yes, it’s begun to snow again, I’m afraid.”  
“I figured. It looked like the sky was gonna break when I got off the carriage this morning.”

Victor didn’t cross London to talk about the weather. That’s not why he braved the elements. He has important news and…  
“I’ve missed you, Ethan,” Victor manages, trying to keep the ache of longing out of his voice. _I’ve missed you more than I am able to articulate._  
After giving one final squeeze, Ethan extricates himself from their embrace. Slowly, just enough so he can see Victor’s face.  
  
Jesus, he’d forgotten the witchcraft of his eyes. Ethan could lose himself in their shine for eternity.  No matter joy or pain, Victor bears the curse of emotion.  
Imagine living life as if you were always on the verge of tears. As if God couldn’t decide in all His command whether you were capable of feeling elation.  
With Victor, He sculpted two eyes, encasing bluebell flowers behind glass. Of all things known to the Almighty, He erred on the side of sadness.  
Eyes that once spoke to horrors don’t even appertain to him any longer.  
Victor blinks furiously and that’s when Ethan notices… there’s a new spark. How they recount volumes to the hope of new love now residing within him!  
  
Victor swallows hard at the tangle of words caught in his throat. He has so much he wishes to say and yet… something trivial trips out.  
“For a moment I thought I was interrupting something. I heard you speaking to someone on my way up.”  
  
Ethan sighs softly. Looks beyond them both, towards the empty corridor.  
“Only talking to ghosts, Victor. Lord knows there are plenty to go around. Please, have a seat. I’m just finishing up here.”  
“Oh, may I assist you?” he offers, bending to sit where Vanessa had occupied a place just a moment before.  
“No, thank you. Almost done. Just the unmentionables left.”  
“Oh, right.” The t catches in his slightly crooked teeth.  
  
“You won’t be too scandalized by my drawers, Victor?” Ethan provokes.  
Victor colors as violently as the red pocket square blooming from within his sleeve. He forgot Victor's habit of stuffing his kerchiefs into his cuffs like a boy.  
Ethan wonders how many more minutes he can keep himself in check.  
  
“No, of course not. I’m a physician. The human body and its sheaths are no mystery to me.”  
Victor’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, hands clenching in his lap.  
He swallows hard.  
“I’m sure they aren't.” A small coy smile builds on the edges of Ethan’s pert mouth.  
  
Victor desperately tries to change the subject, much to Ethan’s amusement. The air is thick with arousal and it tickles his nose.  
“So, how was your journey? Where did you go? I’m sure you’ve had quite the adventure.”  
The doctor looks everywhere but the folded flannel. Pushes away thoughts of members and musk and the heat of an erection straining against…  
_Oh Heavenly Father.  
_  
“Scotland. The Highlands. I needed to get away. To a place with few acquaintances and even fewer friends.”  
Victor isn’t looking at the gap between the buttons on Ethan’s shirt.  
Victor isn’t focusing on the sliver of warm skin revealed. Just a hint of dark brown hair sprouting through.  
Victor certainly doesn’t want to reach past it, claw his way up and over his pectorals to the hard roundness of his shoulders as he holds on-    
“I suppose it’s a very unforgiving place.”  
  
Ethan plops down next to Victor, the soft mattress dipping under their collective weight.  
Deep and suggestive eye contact brings a twitch to Victor’s mouth and it’s the last bit of self-restraint that still keeps Ethan from claiming him.  
“I wasn’t looking for forgiveness.”  
  
The tension is palpable, pungent almost. The wolf is enjoying the hunt.  
“What about you? What have you done these past couple months?”  
  
Victor struggles to speak, the right words seem to aline in his mind but then fall like a house made of playing cards.  
“I… I was short on funds after… the expedition. Such is the life of men like me. So I’ve been working as a private doctor and also taking on a few shifts at the city hospital. It’s hard work. All the tragedies one sees. I had a patient just last week… “  
A hand clasps over his knee, and Victor looks down at it as if it were an alien appendage.  
“I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about death and despair…” he finishes almost absent mindedly.  
  
Ethan leans lightly into him, tilting his face towards his. “You’d be surprised. We both know better than most that death can teach us a lot. Please, go on.”  
He gives Victor’s leg a small squeeze and the doctor’s face softens slightly. The heat from Ethan’s touch is burning against his trousers and even his best attempt to keep his features deceptively composed utterly fails.  
“It was a young girl.”  
_It’s getting very warm in the room now._    
“Dying of a blood disease.”  
_Please stop looking at me like that, Ethan._  
“There was nothing more modern medicine could do for her and so that night, at the end of shift, I sat with her until she expired.”  
_Where have you been? Your clothes tell of lavender._  
“As soon as her reaching fingers touched the warmth of my hand, she felt safe I suppose. Relief just suffused her visage and she smiled weakly at me.”  
_Was it some maiden who laundered your things in Scotland?_  
“Thanked me. It wasn’t long after that she took her final breath.”  
  
The slightest tremble to Victor’s voice gives him away. The tear swelling, a pregnant drop of saline glossing over his beautiful, sensitive gaze urges Ethan to kiss him.  
Kiss away the tear.  
But he forbears.  
“I’m so sorry, Victor. That’s awful.”  
  
_Not as awful as being threatened with a life privy of affection, Ethan._  
“It’s par for the course. Life. Death. You don’t know, but my father died yesterday.”  
“Victor, I’m so-“  
“No. It’s all right." A lifted hand stays the phrase in the air. "He was a cruel man in his old age. But he left me property here in London. My brothers have no interest in living here. So I thought.. maybe… I could open a clinic? For the downtrodden. Those city hospital can no longer help.”  
_Perhaps I can finally atone for my mortal sins._  
  
Ethan regards him with open arms and raised eyebrows.  
“That would be most noble.”  
“Thank you. Yes. It made me reflect a lot, Ethan. Also the timing of it. Perhaps…it was fortuitous, my Father’s passing. I mean… this could be a chance to help others. Truly. Aren’t some of us just born under misfortune? I consider myself a man of science but sometimes I wonder, do men like you or I… do we bring our darkness with us wherever we go? Can we not escape it? Do we... nurture it?”  
  
Joy funnels into Ethan’s heart. He’s not seen Victor this excited in a long time.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, do we not stow it away in a valise, protected and cared for like a family heirloom, until it’s time to gently unwrap it and put it on display? Screaming like our deepest hollow screams, beseeching  ‘Look at me! Look at how broken I’ve become, how deeply wounded and barren my soul is without... love, without... compassion.’”  
  
The impetus is there. Victor studies the sharp lines of Ethan’s features through a teary filter. Wonders what passing the rough of his palm over Ethan’s beard would feel like. Would it cover his flesh in goosebumps to suffer the tantalizing ravishment of his mouth?  
In his mind’s eye, Victor is already Ethan’s captive.  
  
“I don’t know, Victor,” Ethan replies in chest-rumbling tone.  “I think most of this fucking existence is blindly fumbling through the gloom, in search of a light. Even the dimmest one. That’s where love, companionship, understanding can be beacons. Findin’ someone with whom to share the darkness and occasionally step out into the light… that is salvation. If you can do this as a doctor, if you have the means, then you should.”  
  
There is a pause. The men just study one another.  
“Yes, yes… you’re right,” Victor whispers. His wet lashes bat once. Twice. “’Tis a moral imperative.”  
  
Ethan’s hand travels up Victor’s thigh as he advances his mouth.  
“Are you still doing your research?”  
It’s just a filler. Neither have the courage to break this tension.  
Not yet, anyway.  
“No,” Victors murmurs. He gazes to one side as if playing back a dark memory in his mind.    
“I fear that pursuit is no longer a worthy interest. I’ve found out everything I ever desired to learn on the subject. My heart is at peace with it now. Or, at least, superficially it is so.”  
Ethan nods slowly. Fixes a lock of Victor’s hair, the place where it curls right above his ear.  
The fleshy part of his hand grazes the doctor’s cheek.  
  
Victor sucks in air, a gasp so shallow it could be mistaken for an exhalation. He lightly touches the place just brushed, catching Ethan’s fingers with his own.  
“I see. Sometimes we grow out of things. Interests. People.”  
_What are we doing, my wolf?_  
“What have you grown out of, Ethan?” The question is a stab to his heart. Please don’t say _me_.  
  
Their breathing space shrinks.  
The name lingers in the air a moment and then Ethan remembers he needs to respond.  
“Being unhappy. I’ve grown out of feeling lonely. I’ve come back to London because I left somethin’ here. I need to get it back.”  
The need, its scorch is spreading to Victor’s extremities. Ethan wets his lips and those impossibly thick lashes of his flutter like newborn butterflies trying to take flight.  
“I see.”  
The thickness to Victor’s voice lowers it.  “Well, if I can be of any assistance in tracking down said object, let me know. I’ve developed quite the keen sense for investigation.”  
  
And here it is, Ethan thinks. We’ve come to the crossroads.  
“It’s easier than you think, Victor. What I’m lookin’ for is right here in this room. Sittin’ right in front of me.”  
Air hits his burning lungs, heart stuttering.  
“What?”  
“I came back for _you_ , Victor.”  
“Ethan I… “ his voice is barely above the sighing of the wind.  
The room spins.  
  
Ethan shifts, kneels before him. Palms flat on his bony shoulders.  
They rest there, weightless, motionless, like empty gloves.  
  
Ethan asks nothing and offers everything.  
  
Victor’s mouth opens and closes, the heart-shape to his upper lip quivering. He trembles against Ethan’s virile nearness.  
“We enter this world weepin’ perhaps because we’re unconsciously aware of the horrors that await us. And often times it is how we leave it. How tragic and yet how beautiful when you find another soul to share the journey with.”

“Ethan, I… ” The roaring in his ears is so loud he can barely hear himself think.  
“I love you, Victor.”  
His speech and his emotions are a stutter. “Ethan… I… I fear I don’t deserve this affection. Such atrocities scar my soul that would make you despise me.”   
  
Victor’s clammy hands are engulfed in Ethan’s enormous ones. He kisses the fingertips and runs their soft pads over his slick lips.  
“I’m the last to judge. Especially after what happened a few months ago. I want to be with you, Victor. That is all I know.”  
Angling a glance at him, Victor is unable to peel his gaze away.  
  
“Oh Ethan… I thought I’d lost my sense for the romantic. That it died somewhere in that slaughterhouse. But I can’t help but carry within me this love… like a last hope. As if you were my only chance at a future… our future. I can’t make you love me, Ethan, but if you say you do...then I believe your words and find myself the luckiest man to walk this Earth.”  
“So… you… ?” Ethan’s eyes are rapt on him.  
Victor forces a nod.   
“Yes. I love you. Deeply.  Without fear of consequence. My heart, my soul, my being desire nothing else. If I had to face my remaining days without you near, I fear I’d not want much of this world.”  
  
By tacit consent, they both lie back on Ethan’s bed.  
Ethan cups Victor’s chin tenderly, claiming his soft lips with such thirst he can’t keep a small cry from escaping him.  
Four hands move... drift... ache to remove each other’s garments, with a hesitancy and delicacy of first-time lovers.  
  
Ethan kisses Victor’s eager mouth as the last of their clothing falls to the floor. When Victor is naked and finds Ethan also bare at his side, his eyes greedingly drink in the view.  
As he suspected, the man is perfection. Even his sex is superlative, nestled in the dark patch of hair Victor spent too many nights imagining.  
“I think you’re magnificent,” Victor sibilates.  
“So are you,” Ethan replies.  
“Come to me,” Victor beckons with trembling, outreached hand.  
  
Unabashed.  
False modesty pushed to the side once their members meet.    
Then Victor gets his wish. His hungry mouth trailing a blaze of fire over the strong muscle of Ethan’s chest.  
All the while the wolf’s fingers move across the smooth, sweat-slippery flesh of Victor’s back, skin prickled from the lust-arousing exploration of his body.  
His hand slides further downward. Hesitates at the cleft.    
Victor’s sucks in his ruby lip and the shaky twigs that used to be his legs part.  
  
“Do you want this, Victor? Do you want me?”  
Their chests heave so deeply they groan with each breath.  
“Yes, Ethan. Yes. More than anything else in the world.” The answer is almost a whine.   
  
Their bodies unite in exquisite harmony. An intense physical awareness of each other renders their lovemaking almost heart-wrenching.  
Victor climbs Ethan’s body like a ladder, worshipping every inch of him, giving himself to the wolf in every capacity sexually imaginable.  
Ethan pleasures him.  
With tongue.  
Teeth.  
Touch.  
  
When spent, gasping for breath and shivering violently from orgasm, Victor drapes himself over Ethan like a canopy, and only then does Ethan allow himself release.  
  
The wolf is flickering flame and rough beard.  
Scraping claw and grazing canine.  
They scrawl their yearning onto their bodies with salt and spend,  
bruise and blood.  
  
It’s done with a growl and the taste of copper on Ethan’s lips.  
Victor stops. Lowers himself to him.  
Ethan’s dark hair is wild about his visage, pupils wide and lips swollen from effort… he holds Victor by the shoulders as he did when he first declared his love.  
  
“Victor…” he sibilates.  
The doctor’s eyes bore into his soul from their pond-like wetness.  
  
“When did we become so tethered by pain, Victor?” Ethan breathes.  
Victor pulls him close. The warmth emanates from their bodies, a wine-colored flush heavy on their chests. He kisses him once more, burying his face into the crook of the older man’s neck.  
  
“It was her loss. With every snowflake that fell on her grave… it was a knot that hastened our hearts to meet again. It was, the call of our hollows that answered each other.”  
“There was an empty space inside, Victor, and it had your shape.”

Victor nuzzles into him, their claim on each other sealed with more than bodily fluids.  
“You were the only one who could break through and love this beautiful monster before you. That’s what Vanessa said to me once, that I was a beautiful monster. That I’d find love one day.”  
“She was right.”  
Victor’s lips are like velvet as they descend once more.  
“Yes, my love, Miss Ives was right about a lot of things.”


	2. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are several new arrivals in London.  
> Victor Frankenstein has been contacted by a young physician from Vienna, one Sigmund Freud. Ethan Chandler's presence has been requested at the home of Alexander Grayson. What will the intrusion of these men in their lives mean?
> 
> Freud and his close friend Schnitzler spend an evening of unusual freedom while enjoying their new flat in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to think of a way to make this fic more interesting, and I've been wanting to write a Penny/Dracula crossover for over a year. Cue to the new Netflix series on Freud... and here's the crossover! Hope you like it!  
> Chapter 2 is Freud-centric, with Frankethan at the end. Chapter 3 will introduce Mr. Grayson.

Arthur leans forward and looks at him intently. He stays very still, eyes narrowed. Flickering candles make shadows dance, the shyest ones stalking corners where the light can’t reach. It lends a particularly romantic air to the already electric atmosphere in the room.  
Something about Freud this evening snatches his breath. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time- but the brandy and the cocaine are assisting the tightening in his belly and the thirst for more than spirits on his parched tongue.

“Schlomo… what say you about Konrad then?”  
Schnitzler’s perfectly starched collar is open at the breast, boasting faint sprouts of light chestnut hair. A hand shakes out his soft curls, pushing them back from his forehead.  
He could really not be bothered about Konrad’s case, but the argument will allow him to steer the conversation to the destination Arthur has had in mind this entire time.  
Also, has Siggy noticed he changed cologne water?  
“Schloooomooooo…” he drags out. “Have you hypnotized yourself, old boy?”  
  
Snapping his fingers- wide eyes that burn fanatically for his friend skewer Freud with one look. So different from the last time he’d held that murky gaze that Sigismund loves to wear.  
  
Arthur opens his legs slightly, almost in invitation. His arm falls limply to the side of his groin, hopefully drawing attention to its growing expansion.  
The other stretches out over the top of the sofa, just inches from Sigmund.  
   
The study is brilliantly dappled with the slanting candlelight and Freud’s eyes shine like bits of gleaming porcelain. His jade-spoked stare surveys the scene.  
Having woken from his reverie, Freud’s lids flutter frantically. What is this sparkle to his friend’s gaze?  
“I’m here, Arthur.”  
  
A flicker of humor strays across his normally serious face. Right foot on his left knee, Freud shifts uneasily. His handsome features are shadowed with fatigue, eyes lined mauve.  
“Konrad, you say… “  
A raised finger touches the pulp of his lower lip and presses in, leaving a dent. Dear God, if that doesn’t make Arthur draw in a desperate breath.  
  
“It’s obvious this is a case of repressed homosexual impulse. Konrad comes from a military family, and the male members harbor naturally oppressive instincts towards sexuality in general, let alone the idea of sodomy. Feeling the constraints imposed on him by his parents and the civilized life expected of him, he has suffered a break.”  
  
Schnitzler appraises him with more than mild interest. He clucks his tongue.  
“Are you really suggesting his need for cock has made him neurotic, Siggy?”  
  
Freud gasps, heat rising in his cheeks.    
“Arthur, don’t be crude.”  
“Well I can understand the sentiment,” Schnitzler mumbles, waving his hand in a playful gesture. “I myself haven’t had a good dicking in weeks.”  
  
“Ye gods!”  
Sigmund raises two fingers to his forehead, drops of perspiration beading at the temples. “Have you no sense of propriety, Doctor Schnitzler?”  
  
They play this game, calling the other Doctor when they want to be facetious.  
Watching him with a critical squint, Arthur giggles in amusement at the spectacle of emotions flitting across his friend’s face.  
“What ruffles your feathers so, Schlomo? The word _COCK_?”  
  
“Arthur… “ Freud gasps.  
Whilst the idea has crossed Sigmund’s mind about a hundred times, he’s never seriously entertained having sexual relations with his friend and colleague.    
It’s hard enough being a Jew, an outcast in his own guild, and deemed a charlatan by his peers. Add to that… a sodomite?  
Not that there’s anything wrong with it. And God knows the inclination for this is alive in him. But if word got out…  
It was already a risk, what had transpired last year. Neither have further spoken of that night- when they got drunk at a social gathering, one of the many Arthur gets invited to, and then they stumbled back to Freud’s apartment.  
A couple more schnapps and Arthur’s arms, solid and strong, pinioned his own as they kissed fiercely on the settee.  
Though sure that Lenore would keep his secret, thankfully Sigmund had woken up before her arrival and managed to make both himself and Arthur decent in time.  
Nothing had happened past groping and Schnitzler ejaculating into his undergarment. Still, the memory of the evening, though filtered through a lot of alcohol, left both of them pleasantly keen to the idea.  
  
“Does the idea of savoring one, Dr. Freud, not intrigue you? A phallus, I mean,” Arthur quips. “Would you not like to sample the briny spend of dearest friend?”  
“I’m consciously ignoring you,” Sigmund replies, tugging his tie until it comes undone.  
It’s suddenly much warmer in the room, and it has nothing to do with the blazing fireplace.  
  
The cocaine is sharpening Freud’s focus. Arthur’s whiskers seem twitchier somehow, his eyes more suggestive than ever before.  
Arthur regards him with alarming directness. Freud swallows hard, turning his attention to the dancing flames. The reflection in the emerald of his irises, setting the green on fire.  
  
“Go on then, Schlomo, enlighten me…”  
Nimble fingers undo the rest of his shirt, Arthur deliberately letting the fabric yawn open to expose his torso. Making himself more comfortable, the bulge underlined by the folds of fabric bunching at the V of his sex, he picks up the lit cigarette from the tray.  
Freud swallows hard as Arthur sucks it until an orange tinge doesn’t crinkle the paper.  
  
“Right,” Sigismund licks his lips with a papery tongue. He’s just going to attempt feigned ignorance. Not pay any heed to the feral way Arthur is pinning him to his place with a hungry countenance.  
  
Stop looking at me that way, Arthur, he thinks. Like you’re a lion about to pounce.  
“It is my opinion that the neurotic individual is also continuously shown in psychosis,” his voice strains.  
“The psychotic individual appears to be constantly invaded by the other, like a strange persona which bursts inside of her/him and presents itself as a threat to the process of construction of this person’s identity. This, of course, depends upon the age of manifestation and the onset of the triggering sentiment. Konrad, if you will, has lost himself because he isn’t allowed to act on his homosexual impulses, most likely present within him since he was pre pubescent.”  
  
Inching forward, Arthur anchors a curled hand on Sig’s bony knee. Freud stiffens at the touch, but doesn’t transfer it elsewhere. His hand merely clenches briefly. Something inside him stops him from reaching out and clasping it to his hardening member.  
  
“I know someone else who risks losing himself if he doesn’t act on his impulses.” Sighing, Arthur grows weary of the Konrad argument. He’d prefer to move on to more “hands-on” applications of the hypothesis.  
  
What he wouldn’t give to feel that well-trimmed beard brush against the soft skin of his neck once more.  
Heavens, their one indulgence the previous year was absolutely indelible. Arthur still recalls it so vividly he can immediately taste Freud on his lips. So many times his seeping cock has stained his sheets in its memory.  
“What in heavens are you talking about?” Freud stutters, gaze drawn to his friend’s pert mouth.  
“Don’t play the fool, Siggy.”  
“What?”  
  
One last drag, and Schnitzler lets the cigarette die in the dish. He raises the glass that was perched on the sofa back to his mouth with a shaky hand and takes a deep draught.  
“You never have, have you?” he breathes from behind a smirk.  
“I’ve never what?!”  
Freud understands exactly what he means- and doesn’t appreciate the insinuation that he might be inexperienced in homosexual relations. (Which he is, but that is neither here nor there).  
  
“Siggy,” a curious hand travels up his long thigh. “You’re telling me you’ve performed fellatio? Been… sodomized?”  
“For the love of God, Arthur,” Freud huffs, now visibly flustered. “Of course- of course I have.”  
LIES! But stop putting ideas into my mind, doctor.  
Scarlet invades Freud’s already ruddy complexion.  
  
Arthur bites off a hysterical laugh. “The great Sigismund Freud, pioneer of psychosexual analysis, blushes at the word _cock_. I thought I’d never live to see the day. And pray, with whom have you done these things? The Rabbi’s son?”  
  
Freud dares not raise his guilty eyes to that knowing face.  
“And what, Arthur, you have?” he murmurs.  
  
Now this is getting interesting. These are the dialogues Schnitzler prefers to have, especially with the man who is the object of his desire. Excellent!  
“Of what do you speak? Being sodomized? Of swallowing spend? I have done both, and given both, and numerous times at that.”  
  
Freud has known Arthur since they were children. He’s well aware of his sexual… prowess. The sex journals he’s been keeping for what Schnitzler calls “inspiration and posterity.” So, he doesn’t actually have a doubt as to the credibility of this revelation. In fact, last year when they… well, Arthur had been more than ready to indulge in sexual acts with Schlomo. Little but flimsy cotton and waning erections due to inebriation had kept them from doing so.  
  
Freud grabs the glass from him, throwing back his head to finish off the rest of the brandy.  
“That’s enough spirits for you.”  
“Says the man whose pupils are pinned due to cocaine,” Arthur quips, advancing another few inches towards him.  
  
“Why did I bring you along?” Freud asks the heavens, his vale eyes rapt on the rafters.  
“To keep you company, Siggy.” The molecules in front of Sigismund’s full mouth shift. The gleam of Arthur’s eyes in the semi-darkness hide no message that he doesn’t want spoken.  
“And to finally suck your _cock_.”  
_  
  
“Arthur, I beg you,” Freud sibilates, voice a ghost’s exhale.  
“You beg me to get on my knees for you, Siggy?” Arthur speaks from an already prostrated position at his lap.  
“Please,” the doctor protests in vain, because the tone is weak and not convincing anyone.  “I have to meet Dr. Frankenstein tomorrow rather early, we need our rest.”  
  
What nonsense!  
“I think I can convince you to be a bit daring tonight, Doctor Freud. Nobody need ever know. And a little release will help you sleep all the sooner, and deeper. To look fresher tomorrow, make a more distinct impression.”  
  
Arthur detects his own pulse throbbing in his ears, it’s a low drumming that matches the pulsing in his member.  
What a welcome distraction from the emptiness and silence recently echoing in his heart. He may be known for his sexual escapades, but Schnitzler is not immune to the need for emotional comfort as well.  
He’s known Sig his whole life. He admires him and adores him and doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the times he’s stopped himself from kissing him since that night.  
  
“Ar… Arthur… “  
“That’s it, Schlomo. Let yourself go,” clawed hands invade past the gap of Freud’s shirt, past the roundness of his shoulders and raking across his chest and back with urgency.  
Freud’s blood is racing. Arthur’s mouth finds his nipple and latches on.  
“Dear God, Arthur!”  
  
Time slows down to the clicking of the strange clock hanging on the dirty wallpaper of the foyer. Arthur’s moss eyes burn into Freud’s, scarring his soul from within with his laviscious intentions. There is a deeper significance to the visual interchange.  
“Consider this research, Siggy. Nobody but us ever needs to know. Don’t you trust that your best friend will take care of your needs properly?”  
  
He angles close enough to breathe onto his slick lips, the hot air lingering before Schlomo parts his and possesses Arthur’s bottom one in complete abandon.  
Arthur moans, it rumbling in his chest. There is barely an inch between their craving bodies now, and the sexual tension sizzles like the fairy lights outside under the pattering London rain.

In contrast with his usual bravado, something overcomes Arthur. He maps Schlomo’s muscular thighs with his fingertips as if he’s never touched a man before. He wishes to memorize every valley and sharp crag.  
“Yes, Siggy, touch me like that…”  
Freud grazes his lover’s enviable, full lips, drunk on the scent of pheromones and musk and whatever new scent this is on Arthur’s scorching flesh. He explores the tight muscles in his lower back, the sinewy strength flexing underneath his caresses.  
“Arthur, please help me,” he begs. Freud’s body is ablaze, he soon forgets himself, loosens his grip on his will and his trousers drop under Arthur’s ministrations, just like their charade.

Schlomo cups Arthur’s face, one palm on each side. He licks playfully from cheek to cheek, making certain to pass over the seam of his mouth, pausing on Arthur’s lip, biting into it like a sugared candy, the other exchanging his groan for a whimper.

“Siggy,” it’s more punctuation than appellation.  
“Heavens, Arthur, what is this scent?”  
Arthur’s skin is spice, tastes like cinnamon under Freud’s probing tongue. The rest of him perfumes of amber. It’s so strong he feels it transfer to his own pores.  
  
Their lips fuse. Arthur’s muscle forcing itself into Schlomo’s glorious mouth, who tugs back lightly, grabbing at the back of his wavy chocolate hair.  
Their velvety mouths mesh and it’s surprisingly passionate and deep, their imaginations roaming as much as their limbs, going back to that night of their drunken escapade.  
Pulling and scratching and licking at as much exposed skin as possible, their foreplay is tooth and nail and tongue.  
Schlomo can’t shake the feeling that the only thing that matters in the world right now is to be here with Arthur, possessed by him in every sense of the word.  
They’re in London. They’re two physicians sharing a let apartment. No would suspect. No one will ever know.

“I want you to fuck me, Siggy.” Arthur sighs the beseech into his ear, breaking against him. The image hangs in the air to be digested and swallowed.  
“I want you to fuck me until I don’t know my own name anymore. Until I cannot remember what calendar day it is of this infernal winter month in this cold, infernal place.”  
  
“Yes, my dove. I shall. I promise you.” Ten fingers grab onto Arthur’s buttocks and squeeze. Knowing he’s already been stung by this dark-haired beauty, he begs him for more with the upward thrust of his clothed cock.  
“You sexy creature,” Freud pants, searching his lustful gaze. “Why do you tempt me so?”

Arthur presses into him, groin first, and Schlomo cannot help but feel his generous arousal against his leg. He closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation, the friction just perfect. Arthur is magnetic and addictive, and Freud feels drunk, his legs wobbly.

“Look at me,” Arthur breathes. Two arms around his waist, Arthur grinds desperately into his bare cock. They growl into one another.

Oh god, Arthur’s fuckable lips move down to his neck and suck, leaving a purple mark beneath the clavicle. It’s a mark no one else will see. No other soul but Arthur, who’ll be sharing Freud’s bed and his flesh for the next month.  
“For the love of God,” Freud stutters. His ample member leaks pre-cum, Arthur’s tongue runs rivers along Schlomo’s taut thighs, all the while keeping a firm grip on his shaft.  
“Please, _more_ Arthur.”  
Siggy’s head drops to the side, mouth agape in ecstasy. His fingers comb through the soft curls with gentle brushes.  
Schlomo’s eyes chase the lights flickering at the back of his eyelids.  
“Oh heavens,” he cries out, bucking.  
“You have got a magnificent cock, Siggy,” Arthur slurps over it. When he reaches the back of his inner thighs with his scratches, Freud is predictably trembling. Arthur smiles around his shaft, licking his lips provocatively. Sig is tensing- he’s close to his end.  
“Say it, Siggy.”

Green orbs of lust penetrate their gaze through dense eyelashes.

“What do you wish me to say?” Schlomo has trouble finding his words through a fog of carnal desire, he feigns ignorance as Arthur continues to twist his hand.  
“Ask me to do it and I will, Siggy.”  
He licks the top of his cock teasingly, just enough to make Schlomo squeal. Closing over the swollen head with three fingers, he gives a slow lick to his balls.

“Arthur, please. Drink from me _, please. Give me release.”_  
The last please has a pleading tone, not something Freud is used to hearing on himself. Yet this is how much Arthur has got him worked up.

“There it is, my pet. I am done torturing you. Allow me to gift you reprieve now.”  
Arthur obliges the request. He finishes him off with a hot, moist mouth and the timed twisting and stroking of his member.  
“Arthur, I… ” Freud hiccups, his fingertips scraping at the surrounding fabric.  Nothing to hold on to. He reaches for Arthur’s hair again, curling into the tendrils.

It’s all heat and pleasure, stars and flickering lights, like diving into a warm pool and willingly drowning.  
Arthur hollows out his cheeks, the taste of Schlomo’s member making his own cock stretch his trousers until the seam is digging uncomfortably into his groin.

Sigmund loses all resolve. “Oh God, …I’m close, Arthur, I’m about to release…”

One, two and on the third brush, Schlomo deflates like a balloon, a shrill moan escaping him, and Arthur’s thick tongue is completely glazed with his seed.  
The panting, disheveled doctor looks down to see his best friend swallowing his spend, drops of white cream splattered on his chin and whiskers.  
To make it worse, he is cleaning his lips and collecting what he can with his fingers. The room spins. Ragged breathing fills the silence.

Arthur undoes his trousers in a frenzy, dropping them and his drawers around his ankles. He grabs Freud’s hand and licks the digits obscenely. Guiding the hand low, Freud is made to circle his hole and Arthur plunges three fingers into the opening.  
“Like this, Siggy,” he whimpers.  “I want you to put your cock in me and fuck me just like this.”  
  
_  
  


Hidden in dusky shades is the coming sunset. Ethan and Victor shut the door to their chambers, leaving the cold behind the creaky timbers.  
It’s been a year now since their first encounter. Another winter has come upon them, the all familar nip to the air redding the tips of their noses.   
  
“So who is this doctor you’re meeting tomorrow, Victor? Some Freud from Vienna?” Ethan drapes his coat over the heavy chair in the foyer like he’s done hundreds of times before.  
  
Victor swivels in place, his left hand removing his right glove with short tugs.  
“Yes. Apparently he’s making a name for himself as a hypnotist. A neurologist studying the psyche- it’s more the unknown, darker aspect of medicine. He and a colleague are here in London to meet with some others of his specialization. I guess they want his expertise as they’re starting the British Society of Medical Hypnotists.”  
  
Right.   
Ethan’s nostrils flare. A young physician coming all the way to London for a meeting is no strange occurence. However, something about this is nagging at the wolf.  
“So I don’t get why he’s meeting with you? You’re an anatomist and now you’re running your free clinic. What does that have to do with hypnotherapy?”  
  
Fixing strings of his chocolate hair behind his ears, Ethan’s almond eyes flicker wickedly. Victor bends his head. Is that flint sparking a bit of jealousy in his lover’s gaze?  
Throwing his other glove to the end table, he smiles faintly to himself. This time last year it would have been he who’d be so insecure.  
  
“I have a few patients with neuroses. I think it might be of benefit to have him advise. I would appreciate a second opinion, albeit an unconventional one.”  
“Well, who but us know better about the unconventional,” Ethan remarks as he leans in for a kiss.  
“Indeed, my love.”  
If that was ever an understatement, Victor muses. It’s been a quiet season but they both haven’t forgotten all the trials and tribulations they experienced together.   
And Vanessa. Poor Vanessa.   
  
Without any other words between them, Victor peels off Ethan’s jacket, hands raking over his broad chest and falling to his lower garment, over the mound of his sex.  
  
Ethan’s breath quickens. He stares back at him wantingly from narrowed eyes lit with desire.  
“Oh, my love, when you look at me like that,” Victor sighs.  
  
A bolt of need sets their blood on fire.  
“So I’m meeting a young Viennese hypnotist. What say you of this American who wants to consult with you tomorrow? Should I not be jealous as well?”   
Victor wears a smirk beautifully now, gently caressing the erection he’s coaxed out of his love.  
  
“Jealous?” Ethan scoffs, an attempt to keep his voice level failing miserably.   
“Of whom? _Alexander Grayson_?”   
Ethan’s voice strains over the name- the cupped hollow of Victor’s palm engulfs the crown of his sex, still trapped in Ethan’s trousers.   
  
“I haven’t met the man but I doubt he’s young or dashing.” The wolf isn’t making a very convincing case.   
  
Victor seems to recall that the gentleman is about Ethan’s age. Wealthy and very intelligent from what he heard of him from Malcolm Murray.  
Something about this is nagging at Victor.   
“Yes, well… we shall both see tomorrow what destiny unfolds for us, shan’t we?”  
  
Dropping to his knees, the young physician frees his lover’s member and makes it disappear down his eager throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done what's necessary to make the timelines fit. The society mentioned by Victor wasn't started until 1948.  
> The info on Freud's theories is taken from wiki, my own knowledge as a psychologist, and this paper: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4502339/
> 
> Hope you like it! Don't be a stranger I love hearing from my readers! xxoo and hope you're all safe!

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this to two people who inspire me always with their prose. To write and to be a better writer. Thank you, friends.  
> I hope I've done justice to the seemingly unattainable idea I had a few days ago.  
> A special dedication to two people I lost this week.  
> My friend Steve perished on Sunday in a motorcycle accident and I just learned of another friend's drowning in Lake Michigan yesterday.  
> May you find peace, dear friends. I like to think we'll meet again sometime at the bar, to laugh and drink over our troubles and joys. 
> 
> This work was supposed to be the second in the series, the first being "Too Many Monsters," but there is some sort of glitch in the system and so, I put it as inspired by.  
> Starting with "Too Many Monsters," all Frankethan stories in this series are to be considered stand-alone and thus can be read in any order. 
> 
> Opening lyrics inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRYUFIedGLA  
> Colorblind- Counting Crows  
> One line inspired by Cabello's song: U shaped Space


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